


Can You Tell Me What's Real?

by haunted_table_boi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Albino Dave Strider, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Dave Strider, Couch Cuddles, Crying, Dorks, Dorks in Love, Eventual Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Feelings Jams, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas Moirallegiance, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Karkat Hates Himself, Karkat Needs a Hug, Karkat Swearing, M/M, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Overdose, POV Karkat Vantas, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Past Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Poor Karkat, Purring Trolls (Homestuck), Sad Karkat, Sloppy Makeouts, Slow Build, So much affection omg, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Touchy-Feely, Trauma, Troll Romance (Homestuck), Trolls (Homestuck)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27694078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haunted_table_boi/pseuds/haunted_table_boi
Summary: Karkat has been dealing with a whirlwind of emotions lately, and his growing feelings for Dave only adds to his turmoil. He's not sure he's ready to accept the fact he's ready to move on from his first matesprit, after the tragedy that ensued not long after. It doesn't take long for said Strider to help him out of it though.
Relationships: Dave Strider & Karkat Vantas, Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Can You Tell Me What's Real?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Space_gays_that_arent_in_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space/gifts).



> Aaaaaah so I've been reading nothing but Space_gays_that_aren't_in_space's fics lately and omg they're so good HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!! I'm writing this fic as an apprectiation fic for all their amazing work. I hope you like it Space!!! (Title inspired by Can I Call You Tonight by Dayglow)  
> Edit: So much unplanned fluff and feels ahead!! XP X3 ♡

Emotion. Not something you've ever had a good relationship with. You always feel like you're always too angry or too tired, and when you laugh it's all wrong and it's too loud and raspy and weird... You want to say it almost sounds fake, but if that were true, then you've never truly laughed before. In fact, you can't seem to remember if you've ever been happy, like truly happy. Just light-hearted joy, and no lump nor hole in your guts. And when you think this, you don't mean in a melodramatic all-I-listen-to-is-My-Chemical-Quadrants-I'm-so-depressed sort of way, you mean you don't remember the last time you smiled, for real. You don't remember the last time you just enjoyed something.  


You've just felt wrong lately. 

Lately, everything's been wrong, you guess. You've felt so numb and like a tornado of emotions at the same time; frankly, it's getting exhausting, if you weren't already. You're not sure, and realize that's probably not a good sign. 

The familiar tune of one of Dave's shitty songs startles you, snapping you out of your melodramatic, half-awake self reflection. What the hell, when did he change your ringtone?! You liked the quote from the Princess Bride you had it set to, thank you very much. At least it was a bit of the one of the mixes you actually like.

You roll over and pull your phone into the shitty human bed. You haven't slept in a recuperacoon since... You don't let yourself think about your moirail. Instead, you think about telling Dave several places he can go for changing your ringtone. Speaking of that douchemuffin, the blonde was calling.

You debate actually answering, then realize he will just leave an eight hour voicemail if you ignore him. 

"What do you want, Dave? Kind of trying to sleep here," you grumble, despite having been more-or-less awake for hours. 

"Karkles, it's three in the afternoon, why are you in bed? You promised to come over and watch that shitty romcom that I rented, remember?"

Fuck. You did remember that. You were actually kind of excited for this movie. You were supposed to be there an hour ago, dammit. "Of course I remember, fucktwat. I... just overslept. I'll be over there soon."

"Dude, I made popcorn and everything. I'm going to fucking cry like it's some six-year-old girl's birthday party and none of her classmates showed up, even though she handed out the invitations herself, if you don't get over here soon. Hell, I'll cry so much it's like that depressed little birthday girl's house caught fire in a murder/suicide attempt, to the point where my tears are like a tsunami, putting out the fire and flooding the whole place, no the whole TOWN, and the cake, along with all the other food that was lost, will attract fish, and the fish will be like swimming around, nimblin' all the corpses my tear-nami created like a mouse and some random-ass crumb on the ground before the house cat eats it, and crabs will want to move in there, because these tears are fucking saltier than the ocean in here, saltier than-"

"DAVE- OH MY GOG, SHUT THE FUCK UP, I SAID I'M ON MY WAY!" You snap, then immediately feel bad because you weren't actually that pissed, but gog dammit, you really didn't want to move today. On the other hand, you haven't left the apartment in a while, and honestly, you kind of want to steal more of his hoodies. 

Dave smirked at your outburst, and sniffs amusedly. "You know you love my rambling." You silently vow to never admit that, even though it's a hundred percent true. "Oh yeah, Kitkat, before I forget again, be sure you bring my hoodies back this time, I know you have, like three of them, and I kinda want those back, since you have, like two hundred or some shit, but more importantly you managed to snag my three of my favorites without me noticing. Like, I might start coming over to your place and steal your hoodies at this rate."

The corners of your lips twitch, and you feel warm. You're not quite happy, but damn, sometimes hearing Dave not notice his missing hoodies for two and a half weeks gives you that extra bit that helps you decide, yes, life is in fact, worth getting out of the bed for. You sit up, stretch for a second, then reply to the dumbass who you've stolen at least fIve hoodies from. 

"Okay, Dave, I'll give you your favorite hoodies back. I guess you don't care if I keep the other two, then," you tease, a smirk finding its way on your face. One of which you're wearing right now, and probably needs to be washed.

You hear the blonde human take a deep breath on the other end, and can practically feel the disappointment he has for himself for not noticing. Probably you too, for taking them in the first place, but you know he doesn't actually mind. If he did, he definitely would've stopped you by now.

"Karkat, which 'other two' hoodies do you have?"

"The black quadrants one and the 'Murder on the Dancefloor' crow one," you yawn as you finally stand up and start gathering Dave's hoodies from around the disaster you call a respit block, tossing the other one that needs to be washed where your bed is. "I need to wash your crow hoodie and your dumb red gear hoodie still." 

"Damn, I thought I left the crow and the card-suits hoodie at Terezi's. Dude, you're like a goddamn bank robber-ninja asshole, fucking breaking into the high security vault that is my unawarenesss and taking all the goddamn money, or hoodies in this case, like it's nobody's business, except I guess it isn't all that high of security, it's actually kind of hella trash apparently because some douche was able to waltz right in like a black-belt ballerina, twirling around and doing plies and pirouettes and jump-kicks all up in that shit without being seen. It's like that vault was your goddamn stage, about to-" you clear you're throat, well aware he'll never get to the point if you don't. "Anyway, you should bring'em, I need to do a load of laundry regardless." He hesitated, then added, "is the 'art prostitute' and 'Apple Juice or Death' hoodies clean?"

"Yes, Dave, I'm not fucking stupid enough to dirty all three of your favorites at once. The only reason your stupid nook-eating gear hoodie is dirty is because I fell asleep in it during a particularly long day of self-loathing," you roll your eyes, and they land on your favorite crab hoodie. A relatively dumb but fun idea crosses your mind. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to get ready if you want me over before four."

"Nuff said," he grins, you swear you can hear him grin as he hangs up.

After you take the third fastest shower in your life, you throw on a black t-shirt with your sign on it and Dave's 'Art Prostitute' hoodie, and stuff your crab hoodie, along with all of his hoodies, into a bag and rush out the door. 

While driving, your think pan decides it wasn't done being melodramatic and moody, and makes you wonder if Dave- no, NO.

Ever since *he* took the early road out of this hell, you vowed to never, EVER get a matesprit nor a moirail ever again. You're well-aware it was a stupid oath to make when you seven sweeps, and that *he* would want you to be happy and move on or some shit, but you're not really sure you want to. To you, moving on sounds like abandoning him and his memory, and you can't, you just fucking can't. When *he* "left", you couldn't even enjoy your romcoms, you were so depressed. Memories of throwing yourself into your schoolwork, chores, extracurriculars, going as far to flarp with the Scourge Sisters regularly (obligatory fuck the Spider Bitch), anything to avoid thinking about him. You even had to get rid of your recuperacoon because the stupid fucking sopor slime reminded you of him, only to bury yourself in his clothes and sob anytime you were in your hive alone. In fact, you still have his clothes, because that belovedly stupid highblood was a giant even then, and bought all his clothes way three or four sizes too big. You wear them as pajamas only, knowing if any of your friends saw, they would mock you for still mourning a boy you dated when you were a teen. You know they wouldn't understand. It was- and is- hard and no one understands.

*He* was your best friend since you were grubs, your moirail since you first discovered the meaning of the word, and matesprit since six sweeps. He was your everything, and you were his, you could tell by the way he talked about you. The way he consistently called you one of his... 

No, you're not going to cry over your first (and probably last) matesprit. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, careful to not get your translucent red tears on Dave's hoodie. (You know from experience that your candy red is impossible to get out of everything, even the dark colored things.) Your think pan wanders back to Dave, the human transfer student from senior year. 

When you first met Dave, you really wanted nothing to do with him, but of course, the gogdamned bulge-licker wormed his way into your friend group. You knew from the moment you met him, *he* would fucking HATE this prick, but the more he hung around you and your friends, the more you warmed up to him. By senior year, you had already pulled yourself together enough that you were nearly back to normal, yet you didn't feel like yourself most of the time... Like something was missing... Except for when you with stupid Dave fucking "Cool Kid" Strider.

You had become so volatile and angry, that even your friends who tolerated your already ill-temper the most, avoided you most of the time. If you wanted company, you had to search and ask for it; nobody searched for you nor wanted your company, which was understandable. You weren't the same troll your friends tolerated. Yet, here was this stupid human transfer student, all shades and irony, spending his time bugging the shit out of you until you developed a huge soft spot for the nook-whiffer. You became one of the only three trolls at your school to keep in contact with him after graduation. (One of which only because she transfered to his school and started dating his older sister.) Dave remains to be one of your closest friends because of his stupidly stubborn will. You've spent hours wondering what the hell he sees in you, and you've come up empty handed everytime. You wonder what you did to deserve him in your life, and what he did wrong to have you in his.

After what feels like forever, you finally arrive at Dave's house. You're half surprised his other best friend (/housemate), John, isn't there. You don't really care that much though; you used to feel pitch for him, but after a while you kind of quit caring. Last you heard, he and Terezi were kismesises, but again, you don't really know if they're still together. 

You have been here so many times since you both started college that you don't think anything of the house as you stroll up to the door, hoodie-stuffed bag in hand, and right as you go to knock, it flies open and- 

He Stands There Smiling So Big That You Almost Break Down Crying Right Then And There, Dazzled To See Something So Pure And You Realize They Both Have Adorable Little Dimples When They Smile And It Nearly Breaks You.

And just as quick as his smile appeared, it vanishes, a concerned look replacing it. 

"Are you okay, Karkles?" You don't reply; you realize you have tears in your eyes. "Karkat, seriously, what's wrong?"

All you do is hug him. You hug him as tight as you can, and you're not going to cry, you're not going to ruin his fucking shirt, you swear to gog you're not going to, but it's already too late, translucent cherry-red tears are streaming down your white-freckled cheeks as you start shaking like a grub and you know it's pathetic, you know. He seems shocked at first, and you remember that when you two spoke earlier, you were just fine but you're so emotionally exhausted, you just want to be held, and he holds you and it's good. 

"Rough drive?" He jokes, and you half laugh.

"It's only a half hour drive," you say.

"But that's a long time to be alone with your thoughts," Dave replies, and all you can think is that's the biggest understatement you've ever heard.

You hold the blonde for a minute longer, then release him. He doesn't seem to notice for a second, but when he does, he mumbles "sorry" and lets go. You hesitate as he closes the door and locks the door, then blurt, "Where's John?" Not the question you intended to ask, but whatever, you're not even sure what you were initially going to ask anyway.

"Visiting his dad while we're on break," he replies, avoiding your eyes, you think. You can't really tell because you refuse to do the task yourself, and his Aviators do nothing to help. "He won't be back until like, a couple days before break ends I think? I didn't exactly ask him when he'd be back, but that's how he usually does it. Jacks off to his dad's place for most of break, then comes back with two days to fuck around here," he rambles, he knows he's doing it, and quickly shuts up when he sees you wiping your eyes.

"C-can we have a feelings jams...? We'll get to the movie after, I swear." Your voice cracks like your seven sweeps, all pathetic, you know you sound pathetic, but you need to talk about *him*. You haven't spoken a sober word of him since he died, but something about this stupid human fuckass who wears sunglasses indoors compels you to open up about your shit. This is not the first time you've spilled your guts to him, and it sure as hell won't be the last, but this is the first time you've called it what it is. You're nervous for some reason; you've told him bits and pieces about your moirail without directly saying anything on some less than sober days, but today, for some ungodly reason, you feel like if you don't tell him about *him*, you're going to barf and that's the last fucking thing you want to do right now.

"If you thought you were just going to cry upon seeing my ironic self without telling me what's wrong, you're more delusional than a stoned clown at a church, stumblin' around calling everything his mother fucking miracles and preaching about 'the great messiah'," he jokes.

"Dave Elizabeth Strider, that have been the most ironic thing you have ever said," you attempt to smile but it falls short, because oh gog, for being a stoner clown, *he* wasn't that delusional, was he? You want to say of course not, but you know time has distorted your view of him, at least a little bit. You have a couple memories calling him delusional, but that was all in good fun, right? ...You decide not to dwell on the possibility that at some point it might of been geunine, you already have spent enough time reflecting on what a shitty friend/moirail/matesprit you were.

There's a moment where his face screams "Oh shit" before he regains his poise, his face that faux stoic he thinks is soooooo emotionless, but in reality, traces of concern is written all over his features, just downplayed to hell and back. You decide that you hate it, the truth making your stomache twist but you don't pay attention to it, you don't want to admit that yet, no no no no no NO, never again.

He asks if you want something to drink as you head to his living room, straight for the wine-red couch in the center of the room, and you say a beer. You need something to help you relax, to calm down. You don't need to see his face to know he doesn't approve, it's fucking four in the afternoon, you're already emotionally unstable enough, but he'll get it for you anyway because he'd never say any of that out loud, and you appreciate that. You drop your bag with his hoodies next to his couch before flopping down face-first into the cushions. You ponder the cyclone of repressed emotions and emotional pain you've banished to a chest in your gut, but you don't have to talk about that just yet. You don't sit up until Dave returns with your drinks- oh shit, he's got a cherry wheat, your favorite, (since when does Strider keep wheats? He hates wheat beers and so does John) and a tall glass of apple juice for him, of course. The human hands you your drink and you take a rather large swig of it before you mumble a thank you and set it on the coffee table. He frowns as he sets his AJ down and takes your bag. 

"I'mma just toss this in my room and take the dirtiy ones to the wash." You nod as he digs out the mentioned hoodies out and walks to the left, chucks your bag into his room down the hall, then goes somewhere out of your field of vision, the dirty hoodies in his hand.You're pretty sure he didn't notice your crab hoodie in there, and that makes you grin for a second. You take a small sip of your booze, letting the alcohol singe your throat. You can feel the alcohol loosen the tension you didn't know you had in your shoulders. You let it take away some of the restlessness in your brain.

You examine the chipping polish on your claws, a dare from Rose the last time you came over to Dave's. All of Dave's human friends and all the trolls that kept contact with him were over last time, which was two and a half weeks ago. You smile at the memory because Kanaya dared Dave to let her do his nails as well. The only requirement the two of you had was no glitter, and that was okay, because the girls had a different mischievous plan for you two. Rose painted your thumbs and pinkies red, your forefingers and ringfingers white, and your middle fingers black. You were pleased with the implied quadrants colors she used, until you saw the colors Kanaya used for Dave.

His thumbs and pinkies were black, his forefingers and ringfingers grey, and his middlefingers red. Not only were the quadrants associated with those colors the exact opposite arrangement you were given, you also realized those were the colors you wore the most. The colors Rose had given you were the colors he wore the most. You freaked out then, trying to explain to her the romantic implications she had inadvertently just put between you and Dave until you noticed her nails were jade green and Kanaya's were a purplish-pink, a sort of bright mauve. It was then you realized that they planned this, that it was intentional, the dread of your vow came roaring up but you didn't want to worry your friends, so instead you repressed it, evetually stole some of Dave's hoodies and cried into the pile of Gamzee's clothes when you got home, apologizing to him, wearing his clothes like you were seven sweeps again, breaking a six month streak of not doing that. You're pretty sure you spent the rest of the weekend wearing his clothes, both Dave and- and... You haven't done that in a while. Just think his name so casually. You didn't even realize you did it the first time... Maybe you are closer to moving on then you- no, NO! You-

Strong arms wrap around you, and you realize Dave's wearing the crab hoodie you hid in your bag. You shove yourself into his embrace, and let the tears you didn't know you were holding back flow down your face. You can tell he wants to say something. 

"So... how do feelings jams work exactly? I mean, I think I get that they're supposed to help people work out their problems and shit, and I want to do that, but I don't really know... how to, exactly? I mean, Bro was super shit, taught me feelings weren't that important, but obviously he didn't teach me that very well, because I'm a fucking hurricane of dumb emotions, breaking all the walls he taught me to put up like they're made of the most delicate tissue paper, so easy to destroy and- you know what? I don't like this analogy nor where it's going so we're going to ignore it because you get the point. I guess all he really taught me is how not to deal with them. Anyway what I'm trying to say is how do we do this and I'm sorry if I'm shit at this." He rests his cheek on your head, careful not to touch your horns. You resist and surpress the urge to kiss him.

"You just talk during a feelings jams, and support each other as best as you can, just like this, dumbass," you tell him, nuzzling his neck, careful not to poke him with your horns. He makes a little noise that sounds like "oh", and you try not to think about how you haven't had an official feelings jams since Gamzee. ...You don't know how you feel about freely thinking his name like that. You realize you only have this issue when you're physically with Dave.

There's a moment of blissful silence that ensues, and it feels good, feels right, before he asks you the inevitable question. 

"Why'd you cry when you first got here? No, wait, that's not right, I mean, what's been bugging you and making you upset? To the point you asked for a beer at four-o-goddamn-three in the afternoon when I know you don't day drink?" His grip tightened around you and it starts to sink in how flush (not pitch, like you thought back in high school) you are for him but you haven't wanted to admit it because of your oath. "Do I need to beat the shit out of someone? I swear if someone has been hurting you, I'll beat them so hard that their grandma will be helping them get around if I haven't killed 'em, but their hospital bills definitely will, ha! I won't even need my sword, I'll be like Batman or a knight, yeah, I'll be your fucking knight, defending your honor or whatever like both our lives will end faster than a bottle of AJ for your friend who hasn't had any AJ for years can empty, chugging that shit faster than the speed of light, like so fast you have to go back in time to see it disappear down his throat-"

"Dave, I don't think you want to beat me up, nor do you want to beat up a guy that's been dead for four sweeps, and honestly, I'd rather you didn't anyway," you interrupt, which shuts him up for a second while he thinks. 

"...Why the hell would I want to beat you up?" You don't answer right away; you suddenly don't want to have this conversation, but you are, and you know that there's no escape from it. You've had it a long time coming, it's about time you stopped running from it. 

You take a deep breath, and adjust to look him in his conealed eyes. He loosens his grip so you can move, but you notice he doesn't let you go.

"I made a stupid fucking oath, a-a vow, when I was seven sweeps that I'd never have another matesprit nor moirail ever again. I-I," you start shaking, but no, NO, you're not chickening out. You grab your cherry wheat from the table and tip it back for three seconds, then put it back. "I'm realizing I'm ready to move on, I've been ready to move on, but I'm not ready to deal with what that means."

He takes a second to process, so you study his face, taking in all the little scars, some acne scars, some battle scars, scattered like the freckles on the bridge of his nose, like the white freckles that cover your body, and it hits you how similar yet different trolls and human, but you don't get to expand on the thought because he asks a question that you knew was coming, but still don't quite expect. 

"Why'd you make a vow like that? Or still follow it, for that matter? I made a vow to kiss John when I was thirteen, but you don't see me trying to smooch the guy. Is it a religious thing?" He doesn't mean it rude, you can tell by his tone, but the wording still confirms/digs into you about how stupid your oath really is.

"No, it's not a religious thing. I made it because..." You glance at the bottle on the coffee table, and sigh. You don't need it you, you decide, but you avoid his eyes. "I was the one to find my childhood best friend, my first moirail, my first matesprit, after he overdosed." You feel yourself tear up yet again, but you keep going. "H-he didn't mean to, he j-just got into a r-really bad fi-ight with h-his lusus after it came home a-after a really long time, and i-it stormed away, a-and h-he was upset so he di-id what he a-always did when h-he was upset. He a-ate some of his st-stupi-id sopor sli-ime pies and smoked pot, but either h-he over did it with the sopor or i-it was some bad pot or s-somethi-ing, because he knew h-he fucked up. H-he wrote a letter explaini-ing what happened, saying h-he was sorry for fu-ucking up, a-a-and..." you were shaking violently, remembering the dread you had when you first saw Gamzee, pen still in hand. You could tell by the amount of dried drool on the paper that he passed out before he died. He was colder than usual, like a block of ice was using your then-matesprit's skin as a blanket. (Then-matesprit? You ignore that whisper in the back of your skull.) You remember his lusus coming in a few days later with an apology gift for Gamzee, but instead he found you, sobbing as you pilaged all his clothes. It was angry and confused at first, but then you showed him Gamzee's note and took it to his body. You'll never forget the sound of its cry. It nuzzled you, then nuzzled your matesprit, (it always did approve of you two's relationship) and took Gamzee away. You never saw either of them again, only having what you could take from his hive to remember him by. If it weren't for those clothes in your hive and Gamzee's absence from your life, you would swear it was nightmare.

Dave pulled you close and held you tight, rubbing circles into your back, and you hold him just as tight, trying to ground yourself. You take a shakey breath. "Th-the last thi-ing h-he ev-ever wrote was h-how much I-I meant to hi-him. I u-used to h-have it memorized, but th-then I met you." He squeezed you tighter then, and pressed his mouth against your shoulder in a way you're not sure if it's a kiss or not, but it's comforting nonetheless. Neither of you speak for what feels like eternity. 

"Well fuck me then," Dave chuckled softly, breaking the silence. He hesitates for a second, then adds, "You shouldn't torture yourself though, it wasn't your fault."

"I know, but-"

"No buts, Karkles! If you need someone to remind you, call me. I'm here for you like gum on your shoe. At first, you're like 'ew, what the fuck did I just step in??' But then you're all hells of relieved you didn't step in dog shit, but after hours of trying to get it off, you wish you did because dog shit just washes off, but with gum, it's stuck there for the rest of the shoe's life. Like even if you threw them out, the gum is still stuck on the sole, getting grosser, until one day you realize gum is probably one of the worst things ever invented because once it's stuck to something, it's stuck there forever and you have the choice to keep it and just deal with the fact it's destroyed forever or get rid of it and maybe replace it? I don't know, maybe there was something special about the first thing you can't really replace but maybe it's not even about replacing it, maybe it's more about what it means to get rid of it, but sometimes gum can get stuck to other things, and it kind of spreads like the plague, infecting everything else, and it's better to just get rid of the source than keep it." There was a long pause.

"You left a pack of gum in one of your jeans again, didn't you?" You chuckle, knowing the answer. "Also, shit analogy, you basically said I should get rid of you and replace you." You know what he meant, and you know there was some truth in what he said, voicing some of your fears, but he just said it wrong. Very wrong. And potentially about the wrong boy you're flushed for. You forgive him though.

He's about to defend himself when you kiss him.

At first, you're just sort of pressing your mouth against him, hard, mostly because it's been a while since you've kissed someone, not four sweeps, but definitely a year or two (there's a reason why you don't go to parties anymore), but it doesn't take you long to remember. A part of you dreads this, knowing this isn't some form of quick quadrant-replacement, knowing your two small-ish gulps of booze wasn't enough to make you even tipsy, but you ignore it. Strider was stunned for a moment, but he recovered quickly and kisses you back, gently at first, as if he's scared this is a dream and he might wake up at any moment. You push against him, and he leans back, pulling you on top of him, while you shower his mouth in attention. He tilts his head, nibbling at your lower lip, and you keep peppering his lips with kisses. You pull away after a while, realizing that you want to break your vow, no, you're GOING TO break your vow. It wasn't a new thought you had when you were with the platinum blonde, but this was the first time you felt so strongly about it. Some of your habitual panic springs up at the thought, but you do your best to disregard it.You chuckle it off best you can, and Dave gives you a look.

"Three things," he breathes, "one, fuck you, I ruined like half my clothes with that pack of gum- okay, maybe not half, but a lot of shit that I liked and I had just bought that pack; two, I've been wanting to do that since high school; and three, please tell me I'm not so awful that you're laughing about it." You smile and shake your head. 

"I remember when I first met you, the first thing I thought was how much Gamzee would hate you... But me too, wanting to kiss you that is, whether I acknowledged it or not back then."

"Oh, thanks, that's super reassuring." He paused for a second. "... What would he think about," he gestures vaguely to the two of you, "this?"

You think before responding. "Well, first of all, he'd fucking beat the shit out of you for touching his matesprit... But he'd want me happy. He used to tell me my smile was 'one of the best motherfucking miracles a brother could motherfucking experience', and if I'm being perfectly honest, I smile the most when I'm with you, for some gog-foresaken reason." You smile at him teasingly and he smiles back.

"Fair enough... Could you tell me more about him?" He asks, and it surprises you. 

"Basically, he was a stoner highblood clown who was a part of this cultish, hoofbeast-shit religion that's popular among violet-bloods that preaches about miracles and special stardust and faygo and sopor slime pies or something. I didn't really understand it that much and the shit was bad for his think pan, but I was young and it made him happy so I didn't care at the time." You rub your eyes. "I've already cried like fifteen times today, so forgive me if that's all I'm willing to share with the class today." 

He nods understandingly, then said, "It's cool, I just sort of meant in general? Trust me, keeping that shit bottled up inside isn't good for you, and I think talking about him might do you some good. Talking about the shit involving Bro with Dirk really helped me- I know that isn't the same thing but I don't know, just kinda seems like something you need, like it'll do you good. I'm not going to pretend I know exactly what's good for your brain, I'm not fucking Rose, but just something to make your life a little easier, I hope." It was your turn to nod at him, chewing on it in your mind. "One more thing, why'd you cry when I openned the door, dealing with bittersweet dead-clown-boyfriend memories notwithstanding?"

You shift a little, avoiding his eyes. You feel yourself flush a little, your freckles turning candy red. "You and him both have dimples," you admit quietly. "I didn't notice them until then." You purposely leave out the part about feeling awful about being flushed for him.

"How the fuck do trolls have dimples?"

"I don't know, why the fuck do your freckles stay the same color?" You counter. 

"Why the fuck do yours change color?" He rebuttles. "Don't get me wrong, it's cute as hell, but I'm also really confused."

"Just because I'm a troll doesn't mean I know every little fucking thing about troll anatomy, you bulgesucker!" You playfully push his face to the side, skewing his sunglasses. 

"Same goes for humans, and watch the shades!!!" He half-grumbles, fixing them, and you laugh. You find yourself purring softly, and he perks up immediately.

"Oh shit, I forgot the best feature of trolls EVER!" he grins as he sticks a hand behind one of your horns. He scritches your head, and your purr quadruples in volume. "Damn, you're loud," the blonde breathes. He starts scritching with both hands behind your horns, careful not to actually touch them, and your purr doubles again in volume. You mutter out a "fuck you", but lean into his hands.

The two of you stay like that for a while, him gently scratching and petting you, and you eating it up, purring as loud as you can for him. The minute he stops, you pout and ask him where the fuck he thinks he's going. He counters by asking if you've eaten today, and you shut up immediately. The human slips out from beneath you and heads to the kitchen. You remember Dave mentioning something about popcorn earlier.

"What happened to the popcorn you so graciously made earlier?" You inquire. 

"Fuck, don't mention that shit to me, I made a bag when you were supposed to come over and another after I called you for some dumbass reason." He groans. "Bro, neither lasted more thirty minutes. It was so fucking bad, they were so greasy but I could. Not. Stop."

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. "Didn't Rose tell you to quit buying the generic microwave shit because it was super greasy and gross and had way too much fake butter?"

"KitKat, mention popcorn again and I'm keeping this hoodie." Dave shot while the microwave beeped obnoxiously. You fly up and glare at him from the corner of the couch.

"You wouldn't DARE," you scoff, and he looks at you dead in the eyes as he pulls out a plate of leftover pizza from the microwave. 

"Try me, Karkles. I'm already wearing your hoodie," He snorts. "All I have to do is keep it on." 

"And I can just pilage your closet then." You smile as the smug look is wiped off his face.

"You wouldn't." You cross your arms and quirk an eyebrow at him. "...Please?" You begin to stand up. "Karkles- Karkat, I literally JUST told you I lost a bunch of clothes to gum-" It's too late, you're already in his room, and you've already located your backpack. By the time Dave runs in after you, you're already stuffing his wardrobe into it, practically ripping the clothes off their hangers. "DUDE LIKE HALF OF THAT SHIT IS WAY TOO SMALL FOR YOU- THEY BARELY FIT *ME*, DAMMIT!" He rushes over to you and starts trying to take your bag from you.

"Then why the hell did you buy them, you dumbass, nookwhiffing twink!" You shout. He stops on the bag to give you a look; you blush, but you don't let him distract you from your objective. Taking advantage of the moment, you give a harsh pull on your backpack. Underestimating the albino's grip, you slip backwards, and take him down with you, knocking the breath out both of you.

You're suddenly hyper-aware that any personal space between you two is entirely because of the your half-stuffed bag sandwiched between you. Your blood pusher is pumping so hard, you worry that Dave can hear its pounding, the blood rushing to your face. You feel like you're in one of your romcoms, he just looks so beautiful- the way his tight-knit curls are framing his face, the curvature of his full lips- you can feel his hesitation and uncertainty as a nervous chuckle slips out of him. Your face cracks into a smile, and a snort escapes you as you prop yourself up on your elbows. You feel panic well up in the back of your mind because you've seen this scene too many times before and how quickly it escalates, and how much you're not ready for this- but instead, you both break down into giggles like a pair of teenage girls. 

Dave gets off of you the minute you both start to calm down and helps you up off the floor. You're thankful he refrained from any gog-awful sex jokes, but you're happy- light-hearted even, so you kiss Strider anyways. It's a little more than a peck on the mouth before you pull away, not even giving him the chance to react, and saunter to the kitchen to eat the pizza he prepared for you. 

Neither of you talk much while you watched the movie you came over to watch. Turns out it was some Hallmark movie that you knew Dave thought was dumb and cheesy, but you love it just the same as any other romcom. You feel like you're dreaming, leaning on Dave with your head on his shoulder, purring softly, your leftover pizza long gone and your cherry wheat hidden from sight, barely missed. He's fiddling with your hair with his arm around your shoulders, sneaking you funny little glances.

"What is it, Strider?"

He gives you an innocent look. "What?"

You roll your eyes and give him a look. "You're dying to say something, I can tell, Dave."

He shifts nervously, before blurting, "Out of all my stolen hoodies, I would not have pegged you for the 'Art Prostitute' one. I'm fucking speechless you even took it in the first place!"

You roll your eyes again, this time smothering a smirk. "Why, I'm shocked you didn't figure out why I was wearing it sooner!" You feigned surprise. "It's called irony, fuckass. Thought you were the king of this shit, Dave. I'm surprised at you." 

The albino looked embarassed for a moment, until he realized you were teasing him. "At least I don't have a quote from the goddamn Princess Bride as my ringtone!" He retorted, pinching your cheek like a douche. 

"Do I seriously need to fucking remind you that you CHANGED IT to one of your shitty mixes?" You scoffed, swatting at his hand. "And don't you fucking dare diss the best movie of all time!"

"Dude, chill out, I only changed mine for when you call me or I call you or whatever. I know how much you fucking love that movie, like if the Princess Bride was a person, you would not hesitate to ram that ass harder than-" he shuts his mouth suddenly, his face bright red. You know that he went one of three places. You decide to antagonize him to find out which.

"Than what? Please enlighten me, David."

Dave sits there, stunned for a moment. "Ok, first of all, fuck you, that's not my name and you know it. Secondly... um," he paused, "Are we a couple now, er...?"

"You're avoiding the question, jackass!" you sound pissed, but you both know you're just flustered all to hell. You don't think you're comfortable with the term "matesprit" yet, despite saying "fuck you" to a lot of heavy/deep-seeded garbage involving Makara, but... "I think I wouldn't mind being your 'boyfriend.'" You admit, muttering. 

He kisses you this time, (still avoiding the question like a bulgesucking fucktwat, but you'll forgive him) catching you off guard. Your freckles turn cherry red, and breathe hitches, but you're not going down without a fight. You bite his lip (gently, GENTLY, dammit, don't want him to hurt him) and press your tongue against his lower lip. He opens his mouth obediently, letting you explore his mouth. Dave blushes as little noises erupt from his throat as you do so. You fight back a grin; he tastes like apple juice and cherry gum. After a little bit, the kiss cools down to lingering pecks, your purr doubling in volume. 

At some point, Dave must have decide he wants to return the favor, because he starts rubbing his thumb behind your right horn and licks your lip. Your purr involuntarily strengthens in volume, but you hesitate before letting him in. He seems rightfully cautious of your sharp teeth (although they're admittedly duller compared to most trolls' teeth but Dave hopefully doesn't know that), yet still manages to be to coax some sounds out of you as well. You realize at some point he pulled you into his lap because he starts rubbing small circles on your lower back. He retracts his tongue after nearly cutting it a few times and peppers your mouth in attention. It's nice; you missed real intimacy, if you could even call a seven sweep old's relationship "intimate" or the quick quadrant replacement sessions from your late high school/early college years. This was nice, in a way kimesissitude and quadrant replacement couldn't and hadn't been. This was real.

After a while, you pull away, still purring but panting for air. You glance at the movie to find it had ended, then the clock to realize it had ended a while ago. Not hours, but nearly, you think. It was getting dark outside... 

"Do you want to stay the night?" Dave asked suddenly, reading your mind. You wanted to say yes, but you knew you had an early class and a late shift tomorrow. Seeing your expression go from hopeful to crestfallen in a matter of seconds, he added, "...We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You smiled and kissed his forehead. "I have class and work tomorrow, I can't... Thank you though."

"Do you have to leave now?"

"No."

"Good."

He held you every chance he got after that, and the rest of the night was just like every other visit to Strider's house. He showed you some songs and his new mixes, you teased him about his taste and gave him your honest opinion and constructive criticism on his mixes. The only real difference was that at random moments, you both would kiss each other's face and neck, making the other flush. When it came time to leave, neither of you were ready for it.

You stood in the doorway awkwardly, unsure what to say, so you said, "Thanks," and pressed a kiss to his foehead. He remained as stoic as ever save for the blush on his face.

"Come over anytime- well anytime I'm home that is, I don't know how John would feel if you randomly popped in when I wasn't home but-"

"Can I call you tonight?" you interrupt nervously. 

"Of course," he answers immediately, as if he's almost hurt you even had to ask. "I'm up most the night anyway, so feel free to just call whenever." He smiles, and it melts your heart.

You hug him tightly as you mutter into his (your) hoodie, "I love you, dork. Talk to you later."

"Yeah... Love you too, Karkles." Again, he holds you just a moment too long, but this time you giggle. You kiss each other good bye, and you drive home with your head in the clouds as you listen to one of Dave's mixtapes. 

As you unlock the door of your apartment, you feel hazey and wonder if any of it was real. You feel like you're drunk, or at least dreaming, as you seemingly float around your apartment. You don't even glance at the pile of Gamzee's clothes in your closet. You simply just fall into your bed, the most giddy you've been in a while, and drift off to sleep, thinking about your new boyfriend.

Oh gog, what have you done? That's the first thought that greets you when you wake up in the middle of the night. You shouldn't have gotten with Dave, yes it was amazing but- but did you actually do anything but kiss and cuddle? No, you can't think about that- but can you? You are suddenly more conflicted and anxious than you have been since senior year. You can't think straight, you're arguing with yourself, you don't know what to do or think. You do your best to ignore the overwhelming urge to dig your claws into your skin, to bang your head against something until it feels clear, but you suddenly decide you can't deal with your thoughts, you just can't, and grab your phone. In your mind, you're going to play a song- any song- to clear your head, but your hands have already dialed Dave's number. Your panic becomes even worse, to the point where you're shaking. You try to calm yourself down by reminding yourself he said you could call him, it's fine! But every inch of your skin is screaming that it's not fine, you're not fine and-

"Hello?" A voice dripping with the effects of sleep answers.

Your breath catches in your throat, the corners of your eyes starts to wet, your mind has gone painfully quiet but so loud, yet you still manage to squeak out a weak, "Hi."

"Hey KitKat." He sounds a bit more awake this time. "You doing okay? You sound... very not fine." His voice is voice is stupidly sweet and concerned, it makes your blood pusher twist. 

"I-I..." your mouth can't seem to form the words for how you're feeling. "Can you come over? I don't want to be alone... I don't like where my think pan is."

You hear a snicker. "Of course. You miss me already, Karkles?" It's a joke, you know it is but you just can't handle the whirlwind that is your thoughts so you focus on him. 

"Yeah, yeah... Don't hang up, okay?"

"Sure thing, Karkles." You hear some rustling as he presumably gets out of bed. "Do you want to talk about it, or do you just need to get out of your head?"

"Get out of my head," you reply almost immediately. 

"...Do you want me to rap about something specific?"

"No. Go ahead and ramble about whatever you want."

He then precedes to rant about the weird dream he was having, then about how he should have listened to Rose about buying cheap popcorn, then something else you can't remember, all just nothing, words without meaning. It's comforting; you don't say much besides laugh and make little affirming noises...

You wake up to your alarm in a tight embrace. Instinctively, you think of Gamzee, but dismiss it the minute his name graces your mind. No, you know this smell of cherry gum and- hey, is that your hoodie? Memories of the night before come flooding in as you blink yourself awake. You don't remember letting Dave in, but clearly sleeping boy wrapped around you begs to differ. 

He squeezes you for a second. "Are you going to turn that shit off or am I just gonna have fucking do it for you, babe?" he grumbles sleepily into your shoulder. There's a moment where you forget he's your ma- BOYFRIEND now... That's going to take a while to get used to.

You reach over and turn off the alarm and lie in Strider's arms for while. Dave doesn't seem to mind. He mutters something about you having class at some point, but you already decided you're skipping today. Sure, you'll have to get up at noon to go to work, but right now, all that matters is the warmth in Dave's arms and the blood pumping through your hearts in unison. You feel the most at peace you've felt in a long time, especially this early in the morning. It's good, it feels good, so good you begin to wonder if this was even real. 

"Of course it's real, stupid. Quit muttering like you're fucking me and either get to class or sleep," he grumbles, holding you tighter. You giggle, too tired to make a cynical remark, and nuzzle into him. 

You stay there for a long while, so long you nearly miss work. You don't mind though; you think you could get used to this, to not feeling guilty about your vow. It feels good to have broken it. You like not having the weight on your mind, although the guilt you feel when you think of Gamzee is still there. You know you can work past that though. It's been long enough, too long in fact, he deserves to rest. You deserve to let him rest. You don't deserve to suffer for something you couldn't control.

You feel real, for the first time in a long time. 

And it feels good. 

It feels right. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked the fic!! (I swear I didn't mean to make it a monster lmao XD) This was my first time writing Homestuck, so please forgive me if Dave and KK are a little ooc. Plz, please, PLEASE go check out Space_gays_that_aren't_in_space's fics, they're so good!!! Much better and much spicier than this, I assure you. I hope this fic did some justice to yours, Space ♡ (I'm also really sorry there's barely any Gamzee, there's no way mine could live up to yours, Space >~<)  
> Please feel free to let me know of any typos and/or grammar mistakes. Kudos, bookmarks, and comments are appreciated!!! ♡


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